


Vesperfools

by HardNoctLife



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Action, Action/Adventure, Canon Universe, Canon-Typical Violence, Explicit Language, Gay, Gen, Humor, M/M, Not just bros, One Shot, Poor Prompto Argentum, Prompto Argentum Has A Crush, pro homo, promptio
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-12
Updated: 2019-07-12
Packaged: 2020-06-27 00:05:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,784
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19779193
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HardNoctLife/pseuds/HardNoctLife
Summary: A storm's brewing over the Vesperpool, and Noctis has gone missing. Leave it to Gladio & Prompto to turn a straightforward search and rescue into an all-night escapade.Another fic inspired by MysteriousBean's art because she is uber talented and makes it easy for me to come up with stories based on her work.





	Vesperfools

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MysteriousBean](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MysteriousBean/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Muddy](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/497899) by MysteriousBean. 



> Click on the links to see the art that made this fic a reality. 
> 
> So, uh, this didn’t start out as a Promptio fic, but shit happens, okay?
> 
> Thank you to my wife, who is my live-in beta reader and editor for helping me tweak the fine details in this one. I love you.
> 
> **Don’t be shy! This author responds to all comments and welcomes fanart. Hit me up for an art-fic exchange on tumblr @hard-noct-life**

Weekends don’t matter in the wild, apparently. The prince of Lucis loathes being woken up early, but he especially hates not observing ‘sleep-in-Saturday’ and ‘stay-in-bed-Sunday,’ which are days his advisor, Ignis Scientia, doesn’t seem to believe in.

They’ve been on the road for over a week, and in addition to being in bad need of a shower, Noctis’s long standing relationship with his bed is _suffering_.

 _It’s not you—it’s Ignis_ , Noctis thinks when he is shaken awake at the crack of dawn for the seventh day in a row.

“Let me sleeeeep,” the grouchy prince groans. Ignis just smiles his patient, ‘oh come now, highness’ smile and waits, prodding him every time he closes his eyes until Noctis _finally_ uncurls from where he is laid out in the tent, the last one to rise.

“You got an extra hour of sleep compared to everyone else,” Ignis explains as Noctis stumbles out into the morning sun, blinking away the last whispers of his dreams. He vaguely remembers flashes of a meal they didn’t have to hunt for, and _soft, crisp_ _sheets_ rubbing between his thighs.

The ultimate fantasy. It’s been too long since they have gotten to enjoy life’s simple pleasures.

Ignis is naturally an early riser—and so is Gladio. They’ve probably done more in the sixty minutes that Noctis was asleep than the prince will accomplish all day, and that suits him just fine—being productive is for _other_ people, not the Prince of Lucis, he thinks sullenly.

But this isn’t the Citadel—it’s the Capitis Haven, just off a winding dirt road, close to the Vesperpool—and the only king in Cleigne is the Liege of the Lake, which means Noctis’s wants and demands mean diddly-squat.

So, he sips the coffee Ignis shoves into his hand and prepares himself for another grueling day of hunting daemons for gil and scrounging for ingredients so they can eat.

“How much longer until we set out for Lestallum?” Noctis croaks once he’s awake enough to form a complete sentence.

“Tomorrow, perhaps. We should have enough gil for a tank of gas and supplies to last us for the drive. I was hoping you might be willing to catch us some fish for—”

Noctis is on his feet before Ignis can get the rest of the words out, all traces of sleep vanishing, grinning bigger than a kid in a candy shop. Maybe getting up early isn’t so bad if it means he can spend more time doing what he loves—just him, a rod, and no responsibilities.

“Aw, _hell_ yeah! I’ve been dying to check out the fishing spots around here.” Ignis chuckles knowingly as he dishes out a plate of leftover breakfast—scrambled basilisk eggs with a side of roasted Leiden potatoes.

“I figured it might be a nice change of pace after a grueling week. Be back by sundown and I will cook whatever you happen to catch,” his advisor offers, and Noctis is so happy he could kiss him—but he respectfully refrains.

Noctis shovels down the plate of food, not caring that it’s lukewarm, and jumps out of the camping chair as soon as he’s done, already heading towards Bert’s Bobbers ‘N’ Stuff.

“Take care—there is a chance of thunderstorms later this afternoon,” Ignis calls after him, but the prince has already disappeared through the trees, Ignis’s warning falling on deaf ears.

* * *

Clouds begin to roll in around the early evening, creeping in from the west with the help of a warm breeze. Gladio helps Ignis secure their tent in the event the wind picks up, and Prompto breaks down some of the items that are more likely to get damaged in the rain and packs them into the trunk of the Regalia, just in case. No one has heard from Noctis, and he isn’t answering his phone, but it’s not _that_ unusual, so nobody is panicking—yet.

“I swear, he loses track of all time whenever he goes fishing,” Prompto grumbles before flopping into the tent. “Remember that one time where he stayed up until the sun rose in Galdin and fell asleep on the pier? Some guy thought he was homeless and gave him one hundred gil!”

Gladio chuckles at the memory before laying down on the other side of Prompto. He’s sweaty from his afternoon run around the Vesperpool and has removed his shirt to cool off, making Prompto wrinkle his nose as a musky smell fills the small space between them. Ignis pins open the flap to help air out the tent, and Prompto shoots him a knowing look, mouthing ‘thank you’ behind Gladio’s back. 

“I hope he doesn’t get caught in the storm.” Ignis is biting his lip worriedly, and Gladio _knows_ that face, so he quickly chimes in.

“Don’t worry. Princess Knucklehead can handle it—and if he can’t, well, serves him right.”

“What sort of retainers would we be if we allowed the crown prince to die by electrocution?” Ignis huffs, more than a little indignant.

“We could go out and look for him,” Prompto offers, and Gladio’s head whips around so fast that his neck actually pops. He shoots Prompto a ‘are-you-fucking-kidding-me’ glare that Ignis can’t see from where he’s sitting, and the blond slumps down onto his back, eyes lifting to the ceiling innocently.

“Capital idea, Prompto. I can remain here in the event he returns if you two would be willing to head up a search.”

There isn’t a single person in their group who has the balls to say ‘no’ to Ignis Scientia. You _never_ fuck with the person who cooks if you know what’s good for you, so Gladio bites back a comment to save for later and rolls out of the tent and onto his feet, forgoing his sweat-soaked shirt.

“Come on, then,” Gladio grunts, and Prompto scrambles after him, Gladio already six paces ahead and moving like a man on a mission.

As soon as the haven is out of sight, Gladio whacks Prompto in the back of the head—not hard enough to do any real damage, but just enough that he is sent momentarily off balance and windmills his arms to avoid faceplanting into the dirt.

“Heeeeey—!”

“ _That’s_ for volunteering us.” Prompto rubs the back of his head, rolling his eyes at Gladio’s irritation. He dances out of reach.

“C’mon, the sooner we find him, the sooner we get to have dinner. Besides, Iggy most likely would have made us search for him eventually. He’s probably still out fishing somewhere.” Gladio squints through the trees at the darkening sky, sighing heavily at the rumble of thunder in the distance.

They arrive at the tackle shop as the owner is closing for the day, and Prompto lets Gladio approach the counter to do the talking.

“Hey there, have you seen our friend around? Dark hair, about the size of blondie over there—knows his way around a pole?” Gladio inquires dryly.

“A fishing pole,” Prompto clarifies when the shopkeeper gives Gladio a funny look. The look probably has more to do with the fact that a six-foot-six muscled man is running around shirtless in a swamp, but Prompto finds it important to defend Noctis’s dignity.

“Oh, yeah, came by this mornin’ to buy a couple lures. He was headed towards the west bank last time I seen ‘im.”

Gladio mutters a thanks and immediately heads in the direction the man indicated, long strides ensuring that he covers ground quickly. Prompto jogs to keep up, and after a several minutes of walking, they stumble upon what they were looking for—a worn wooden dock meant for fishing, with no sign of Noctis in sight.

“Nooooooct! Come out, come out, wherever you are!” Prompto calls, but the only response is the sound of bull frogs croaking, so he looks over to Gladio and lifts his hands up in question.

_Now what?_

Gladio leans his head back and gives out a guttural groan of pure frustration just in time to feel a raindrop fall between his eyes. One raindrop quickly becomes several, transforming into a drizzle.

“Great. Just, _great_.” Gladio presses onward and Prompto bites his tongue to keep from asking anything that might be deemed a stupid question—like, _uh_ , _where are we going now?_

They continue along the west bank as the rain grows steady, but they don’t run into anyone else. Which makes sense—because who else would be stupid enough to be running around in a thunderstorm in the middle of the woods?

Prompto is just opening his mouth to suggest they should turn back, when a deafening crack of thunder interrupts him, causing him and Gladio to jump. The sky seems to choose that exact moment to rip open, and the two are solidly drenched in a deluge of water, rain falling so heavy that they can barely see five feet in front of them.

“Ahh!” Prompto screeches, shielding his eyes to keep water from blinding him.

“This way!” Gladio yells, grabbing Prompto roughly by the arm. He drags his friend through the thickening mud towards a rocky outcropping, slipping into a crag between two large boulders. Prompto follows blindly until they’re inside the cave, then pauses to wring out his shirt, which is now soaked through. 

“Damn it. Doesn’t look like it’s gonna let up for a while.”

Prompto shakes his arms and legs like a dog, water flying everywhere, then shrugs out of his jacket, clothes sticking to his skin. Gladio reaches into his pants pocket for his phone, attempting to wipe off its wet screen with the back of his hand before dialing Ignis. He puts the phone on speaker as Prompto wanders over to listen.

There is crackling on the line when the call goes through.

“Hey, Iggy, we got caught in the downpour and we’re gonna try and wait it out. Any sign of Noct?” Gladio asks. The static continues, and Gladio shakes his phone as if to manhandle it into working correctly.

They can barely hear Ignis’s voice as it cuts in and out. “Noctis--------you---------safe------?”

“Yeah, we’re fine, but we didn’t find Noct. We’ll try and check a couple places once the rain stops,” Gladio answers, trying to piece together Ignis’s question from context clues.

“Don’t---------come back------storm-----”

“Sorry Iggy, the reception isn’t great. We’ll call you back later.” Gladio waits, listening in case there’s more, but the call drops so he takes a seat, resigned. Prompto plops down next to him and leans his head back against the stone wall, shivering a little from the sudden chill that causes tiny bumps to raise along his limbs.

Without saying anything, Gladio wraps an arm around him and pulls him against his bare chest.

The blond gives out a small squeak that’s muffled by thunder, and Gladio pretends not to notice, shutting his eyes when Prompto doesn’t protest.

_Fine—fine, this is fine—just two guys trying to keep warm, nothing else!_

After a few minutes, Prompto relaxes, leaning his head onto Gladio’s shoulder tentatively. The heavy rain combined with the Shield’s deep breaths is as soothing as a lullaby, and without meaning to, Prompto finds himself drifting off to sleep.

* * *

It is dark when Prompto opes his eyes, and he panics briefly, forgetting where he is. In typical panic-mode fashion, he kicks his legs and arms out wildly, knocking his head on the rock he is lying against in the process.

“Ouch—shit—ow—” Prompto blinks away tears of pain and began to crawl on hands and knees, reaching in the dark for where he left his jacket so he can use his phone’s flashlight. His fingers brush against something thick and sticky instead—definitely _not_ his clothes, and he yanks his hand back so quickly that he nearly falls backwards. Eyes beginning to adjust to the dark, he can make out a large, shadowy figure blocking the mouth of the cave. Its body rises and falls lightly in slumber, snores sounding like growls.

A deep fear clenches tight in Prompto’s gut as he backs up, nearly tripping over where Gladio is fast asleep on the ground. Slapping his hand over his mouth to stifle a shout, Prompto holds his breath and kneels, bringing his lips to Gladio’s ear.

“Gladio! _Gladio_! Wake up, we got a _big_ problem!” Prompto hisses, and Gladio begins to stir.

“What—?”

“Shh! There’s _something_ in here!”

Gladio is immediately on full alert, rolling over into a crouch. Carefully, he pulls out his cell and presses a button on the side, a bright white light pointing down at their feet that casts long shadows in every direction. Prompto clings to Gladio’s arm as he lifts the beam up slightly to reveal what is lurking in the dark, a hideously green beast with multiple tentacle arms and a mouth that is slightly ajar in sleep, revealing rows of razor-sharp teeth.

“Oh _nooooo_ ,” Prompto groans quietly, fingers now digging into Gladio’s biceps.

“A fucking _malboro_? You have got be kidding me!” Gladio curses as he tries to think of a plan, and Prompto would usually be doing the same, but all he can do is stare and horror at his Crownsguard’s vest—which is entangled in one of the malboro’s arms.

“If we’re quiet, we might be able to sneak past it,” Gladio says, and he’s already tensed to start moving, but Prompto pulls on his arm to keep him from getting up.

“My _jacket_ ,” Prompto whines.

“Leave it!”

“My phone’s in the pocket,” he explains, and Gladio is about to argue some more when the malboro begins to stir and they both freeze, arms hanging in space like the limbs of a cactuar.

It’s so quiet that they can hear their heartbeats pulsing against their eardrums, and they both heave a sigh of relief as the malboro settles.

“Come back for it later. Let’s _go_ ,” Gladio orders, and before Prompto can protest, he grabs him by the wrist and presses forward, heading directly for the sleeping daemon.

Prompto resists the urge to keep his eyes shut as they approach the monster, every alarm bell going off in his mind. The malboro is taking up most of the available space, leaving a pathetic sliver of an exit for them to squeeze through, and it will mean climbing over one of its massive limbs to get to it. Gladio, with his long legs, doesn’t hesitate, but Prompto balks, anxiety climbing.

“Hurry up!” Gladio seethes when he sees Prompto isn’t following. Prompto can smell the malboro’s breath now that they’re directly in front of it, and it’s making his stomach curdle. Swallowing back the bile that stings his throat, the blond attempts to angle his hip to make the jump over the thick tentacle, but pauses. In the dim light, Prompto catches Gladio rolling his eyes.

“Come here.” Gladio holds both arms out expectantly, grabbing Prompto under the arms and scooping him up when he gets close enough. Prompto is amazed at how effortless it seems for him.

Even though the situation is tense, Gladio can’t help but laugh under his breath. Prompto clings to him like a monkey, arms and legs wrapping around the trunk of the larger man’s body with surprising strength. Taking care where he places his feet, Gladio makes several small jumps to get around the malboro before starting to shimmy through the small opening that will take them out into the night, still holding Prompto in his arms.

Prompto is thankful for the dark that hides his blush. He can feel every rock-hard curve of Gladio’s body as the limited space crams them against each other, and suddenly it’s _hot_ , hot as Ifrit’s hellfire, and oh gods, is that what he _thinks_ it is—?!

“Let me down—it’s too tight in here,” Prompto gasps in a rush, and he starts to squirm against Gladio, trying to break free of his hold.

“Wait, stop moving so much, you’re going to—” Gladio scolds, but it’s too late. Prompto slips through Gladio’s hands and into the narrow opening, their legs getting tangled.

Before he realizes what’s happening, Prompto is tumbling headfirst towards the ground. On pure instinct, Gladio reaches for him, dropping his phone with a clatter so loud that they both inhale sharply, darkness enveloping them both as the light goes out. They’re as still as statues, Gladio gripping Prompto by the back of his shirt, Prompto on his hands and knees where he landed, shoulders rubbing against the wall as the sound of the malboro waking grows steadily louder.

“Run. _Run!”_ Gladio yells, no longer bothering to be quiet. With one arm, he jolts Prompto to his feet and they hurry out of the cave, nearly tripping over each other. The malboro roars behind them, limbs lashing out violently. There is the sound of something cracking, and rocks fly past Prompto and Gladio when they rush blindly into the darkness, rain pelting their skin as they sprint through the foliage.

At some point, they find the Vesperpool. Prompto discovers it abruptly by stumbling and falling on his face, sputtering as he comes up for air, and he can hear Gladio’s frantic footsteps kicking up water beside him.

“Come on! We gotta swim,” Gladio barks.

Good _gods_ it is freezing and Prompto’s arms don’t want to work, but he follows his friend’s instructions to the best of his ability. There are tremors coming from shore as they make their way further into the middle of the lake, and they don’t need to see to know it’s the malboro trying to find them. They keep going until they can no longer hear the daemon’s angry bellows, treading water to catch their breath.

“Great,” Prompto moans. They’ve lost their phones and Prompto’s jacket, they’re both cold and miserable, and worst of all, they still haven’t found Noctis.

“We should keep going and try to get to the opposite bank.” Gladio’s teeth are chattering. He knows that if they stop, they’ll sink, so despite the aching in their muscles, they press on.

When Prompto feels his feet scrape the bottom of the Vesperpool sometime later, he nearly jumps for joy. They trudge out of the lake tiredly, feeling like daemons themselves as the water sloughs off them in waves.

“If my calculations are right, we just need to head that way to get back to the haven.” Gladio points and there is enough moonlight behind the clouds for Prompto to see the outline of his hand, so he starts walking in the direction the Shield indicated. Everything looks suspicious in the dark though, so Prompto finds himself sticking close to Gladio’s side in case the silhouettes he thinks are trees turn out to be more beasts lying in wait.

“Why’d you freak out, anyway?” Gladio huffs several minutes later. Prompto, not expecting the question, has to rewind his memory reel to figure out what he’s talking about.

“Uh…”

“Back there? With the malboro? You got all claustrophobic on me,” Gladio reminds him. 

_Oh. That._

“Y-yeah—I’m claustrophobic.” Prompto laughs nervously and Gladio stops in his tracks, arms folding.

“You’re acting strange.”

Prompto is _such_ a bad liar, and the only thing he’s got going for him right now is that it’s too dark to see his expression—a deep cringe of embarrassment.

_How do you say, ‘dude, your dick freaked me out’ without making it sound weird?_

Thankfully, Prompto didn’t need to come up with a clever excuse, because Gladio chose that moment to grab him by the shoulder and whirl him around.

“W-what—?”

The blond man half expects to find that the malboro has somehow followed them across the Vesperpool, but instead spots a faint glow in-between two nearby trees, white rays piercing through the night like a lighthouse’s beacon. Prompto turns, saying, “What do you think that—” but Gladio is already heading towards it.

“W-wait! I’ve got a bad feeling about this,” Prompto yelps even as he tags along. 

When they step through the tall grass, there’s a _person_ there, but something isn’t quite right. Well, other than the fact that she is _luminescent_ like some sort of ghost. Prompto scans the woman briefly, noting her plain white dress with no sleeves and her long black hair that cascades down her back, perfectly dry in spite of the weather. His eyes linger on her bare feet, which are not sinking down into the mud to her ankles like theirs, but appear to be floating above the ground.

“Gladio.” Prompto begs him in a single taut word to flee, but his partner appears strangely captivated as he takes several steps forward, a peculiar look on his face as the woman beckons to him wordlessly.

“I’ve been waiting for you,” she says in a musical tone, and Prompto is horrified to see her eyes become golden slits when she smiles.

“Gladio!” Prompto summons his pistol from the armiger and fires a round into her skull, but she merely blinks as if a bug has landed on her face—more annoying than painful. The sharpshooter’s mouth drops slowly open as she turns her animalistic eyes on him, head cocking at an angle not meant for human necks.

“ _You_. You aren’t under my spell?” Her smile widens, pointed teeth filling her mouth, and suddenly her body is morphing, growing scales and elongating—

“O- _kay_ Gladio, time to go big guy!” One hand still gripping his weapon, Prompto latches onto Gladio’s wrist with the other and pulls as hard as he can, but it still isn’t enough to move the prince’s Shield. When the blond glances over his shoulder, the woman is gone, replaced by a snake creature with a human head. “ _Come on_ Gladio, we’re too young to die!” Prompto shouts frantically, and not knowing what else to do, he slaps him across the face.

Gladio blinks once, twice—and comes out of his trance in a daze.

“Oh _fuck_ —” Gladio’s blade is in his hands just in time to block an attack from the mysterious creature that knocks them both sideways, sinking them into a mud pit.

“I hate this _so_ much,” Prompto cries as he aims for the slithering daemon that is fast approaching. “Snakes—why does it always have to be _snakes_?”

“Quit bitchin’ and let’s mosey,” Gladio grunts, and for the second time that night, he is scooping Prompto up as they throw their weapons back into the armiger for safekeeping. Setting out at a dead sprint, they barrel out of the woods and onto a worn trail, a shrill shriek ringing out after them.

“Come back here boys,” the monster cackles, sending shivers down their spines.

This time, Prompto doesn’t try to free himself from Gladio’s embrace until they are sure they are safe—several minutes later after Gladio darts back into the underbrush and dives into a ditch, the daemon rushing past. They lay there for some time, scarcely daring to breathe, Prompto sitting in Gladio’s lap, too afraid to move.

Even after some time has passed, he doesn’t crawl to the side, but relaxes into Gladio’s arms, utterly exhausted in every way. Gladio doesn’t shove him aside, so they sit there, listening to each other’s breathing grow even and slow.

[MysteriousBean's artwork](https://mysteriousbean5.tumblr.com/post/185665486561/for-commanderboxers-and-lostdreamerinafantasy)

“What the hell happened back there?” Gladio finally ventures to ask.

“You…you were under a spell, I think. That _thing_ was luring you in somehow,” Prompto answers, shuddering as he remembers how Gladio’s eyes dilated when he saw the woman.

“Why didn’t it affect you?” Gladio wonders, and Prompto stops.

“I…don’t know.” He shrugs, chocking it up to dumb luck. “What I do know is that I’m ready for a hot bath and Iggy’s cooking.” His stomach growls in confirmation, and Gladio laughs, warming Prompto all the way down to his toes.

“Third time’s a charm? Maybe this time we’ll make it back without any interruptions.” Prompto glances over at Gladio, the moonlight hitting him and making the marksman realize that it has _finally_ stopped raining. He gets caught up in the lines of Gladio’s chest, shadows defining his muscles even more than usual, and the same heat he experienced in the malboro’s cave floods his body.

_Oh._

Suddenly, he realizes why the siren’s spell didn’t work on him and he wants to crawl even deeper into the ditch.

“No interruptions would be great,” Prompto agrees quickly before pushing himself to his feet. He offers his hand to Gladio and the prince’s Shield takes it, calloused fingers rubbing into Prompto’s soft palm. Something about the roughness of his skin causes a flutter in Prompto’s stomach, but he pushes it away.

They continue their trek once again, even more on edge. The sky is beginning to lighten to a pale gray by the time they’re nearing the haven, and Gladio can make out the hill they need to crest to reach it when a familiar noise makes him slow. 

“Hold up,” he whispers, and Prompto steps to the side, head on a swivel.

When they see the cockatrice round the corner, they both move without having to be told, ducking behind a bush to hide.

“So close,” Prompto groans.

“Yet so far.” Gladio motions for Prompto to follow as they begin to crawl out of the cockatrice’s path, and Prompto makes a face as their route takes them through more mud, arms and legs growing thick and slick with it. They can just make out the large bird’s plumage through the greenery and are sure to move slowly any time its head turns in their direction, limbs squelching deeper into the muck as they go.

It seems like they’re nearly in the clear when Prompto feels a tickling in his nose that won’t stop. Horrified, he stops mid-crawl, shaking his head to try and stop what he knows is imminent, mouth contorting in desperation. Gladio turns just in time to see Prompto sneeze, and he skids slightly from the force of it, knocking into Gladio’s side and pushing him into a murky brown puddle.

The resulting ‘splash!’ is followed by a startled ‘squawk!’ and it takes everything in Prompto not to cry in frustration.

The run from the cockatrice is even less graceful than their escape from the malboro, and Prompto doesn’t even dare try to use his gun in case he misses and hits Gladio. Somehow, someway, they end up in a tree, the only source of shelter they could find on short notice. Prompto marvels at how spry Gladio is for such a big guy as he vaults up into the branches with the strength of an experienced gymnast, hauling Prompto up after him as if he weighs nothing.

They sit there, clinging to the branches so tightly that their hands begin to hurt, and watch as the cockatrice dances beneath them, enraged. Looking out over it, they spot its nest not far away.

“We’re not trying to steal your eggs!” Prompto promises, pulling his legs in tightly as the daemon leaps up in an attempt to snap at his ankles. “What happened to ‘third time’s a charm’?” he griped.

“I’d like to remind you that _you_ were the one who told Specs we’d look for Noct. His highness is probably fast asleep in the tent right this moment, safe and sound and fucking _dry_.”

“ _Or_ , he could have gotten caught in that same storm and still be missing! Or fallen prey to any one of these daemons! Some Shield you are.” Prompto is adamantly defensive and most days Gladio would find it kind of endearing, but not today.

“Oh yeah? _Bet_ then.”

“Bet _what_?” Prompto grumbles.

“If Noctis isn’t there when we get back, I’ll suck your dick.” It’s said casually in that off-handed way that Gladio says _everything_ , which makes it very difficult for Prompto to determine if he’s being serious or not. When Prompto doesn’t laugh right away on the account of being stunned into silence, Gladio peers down at him curiously. “Yo, you good?”

“Great!” Prompto pipes up, his voice a whole octave higher than normal. “Even better once we get back.”

 _Oh gods, did that sound cocky? Does he think I’m actually serious about this? Is_ he _actually serious—?_

“What do I get if I’m right?”

Prompto’s mind blanks, a blue screen.

“Uh.”

Gladio’s laughter shakes the tree, making Prompto readjust his grip for the millionth time.

“You can sleep on it, blondie. Just don’t be mad when you lose.” 

They slip into silence as the sun begins to rise. On any other day, it would be beautiful to watch the area around the Vesperpool come alive, but with clothes sopping and caked in mud, Gladio and Prompto would rather be inside a hotel room taking a hot shower. 

Prompto gets a mental image of Gladio taking a shower and his brain short-circuits, and he’s suddenly thankful to be in a tree where the leaves naturally mask his face.

The one plus side about it being morning is the fact that the cockatrice gets bored and wanders off, probably to hunt for its breakfast, and after enough time has passed, they are able to climb down to the ground and hurry on their way.

The sun is above the trees when Bert’s Bobbers ‘N’ Stuff comes into view and they know it’s only one turn before they’re finally to the haven, but something out of the corner of their eyes grinds them to a halt.

“You’ve _got_ to be kidding me.” Prompto’s voice is sharp and rigid, a far cry from his usual temperament, and Gladio lifts one eyebrow in amusement as the smaller of them makes a bee-line for the tackle shop, stomping onto the dock to announce his presence.

Noctis Lucis Caelum looks over his shoulder from where he is sitting, magicking his rod away as his eyebrows furrow delicately.

“What the hell happened to you two?” he asks in a brazen fashion. “Took you guys long enough to get back.”

Prompto is staring at his friend in disbelief, and Gladio can tell by his rigid stance and the way his hands are twitching that things are about to get interesting.

“We—you—we went looking for _you_!” Prompto sputters, pointing one finger at the prince accusingly.

“Well, yeah, but didn’t you hear Ignis when you called? He said that I had come back and for you guys to meet us at the haven once it was safe.” Noctis was on his feet now, arms folded over his chest disapprovingly. “We could have been halfway to Lestallum right now! We’ve already packed up most of the camp. What, did you just decide to go for a midnight swim instead? If you two wanted to be alone together, you could have just said so.”

Gladio hears footsteps approaching and turns to see Ignis walking down the path towards them, but Prompto can’t tear his eyes away from Noctis, shaking now from the anger that is bubbling up from within.

Ignis sees the warning signs that Noctis is oblivious to, but instead of letting him interfere, Gladio grabs the prince’s advisor firmly by the shoulder and shakes his head.

“Oh—oh _yeah_ , we just decided to go for a little _swim_!” Prompto rails. Gladio does a countdown in his head, grin spreading from ear to ear.

_Three—_

Prompto steps up to Noctis, grabbing him by the shirt with both hands, the prince’s eyes widening in surprise.

_Two—_

“How’d _you_ like to go for a ‘little swim,’ huh?!”

_One—!_

Prompto tackles Noctis off the pier and into the murky water of the Vesperpool with a ‘SPLASH!’, and for a minute, Gladio is worried he might _actually_ be trying to drown him, but then they both come up for air, thrashing and slinging mud and water in every direction, and his concerns fade into boisterous laughter.

“I’d like to see you warp out of this, your _highness_!” Prompto seethes before shoving Noctis back into the murky lake.

Ignis sighs heavily, pressing his glasses as far up his nose as they will go.

“You’re _both_ sleeping outside!” he chides, but his admonishment is lost somewhere between the yells and repeated dunking, and it takes some time before they subside.

[MysteriousBean's artwork](https://mysteriousbean5.tumblr.com/post/179397239346/inktober-day-23-muddy-ignis-is-not-amused)

When the four of them finally start walking to the haven to get cleaned up, Noctis presses ahead, mumbling something in annoyance. Ignis joins him, hoping to soothe any ruffled feathers before they get back to camp, and Gladio drops back to join Prompto, whose freshly wet hair is now sticking up at awkward angles.

It’s actually really cute, he thinks. 

“So.” Gladio’s grin hasn’t faded from when he first saw Noctis, and Prompto won’t meet his eyes, nibbling on his bottom lip anxiously. 

“Okay, you were _partially_ right. He wasn’t at camp though,” Prompto points out. Gladio hums in response.

“I’ll take a _partial_ reward then,” Gladio decides, and Prompto snorts.

“That’s not how that works, but fine, have it your way,” he concedes.

“I get first shower at the hotel. _And—_ ” Gladio leans down, full lips brushing against Prompto’s ear as he murmurs, “I get to share a bed with you.”

Gladio is rewarded by a blush so dark that even Prompto’s freckles change color, and he watches as the blond’s steps become short and fast, allowing him to walk a few feet ahead. Even shirtless, damp, and dirty, with an abysmal amount of sleep, Gladio is feeling refreshed when they finally reach their destination. The tent is rolled up in silence, Prompto and Noctis not speaking to each other, but Ignis, ever observant, manages to catch Gladio’s eye. Ignis sends the younger two boys to the Regalia to fetch something, hoping they’ll find time to apologize to each other, and Gladio wanders over idly.

“I am relieved you two are safe. I had my doubts,” Ignis admits.

“Well, we’re right as rain—as you can see.”

“Indeed.” Ignis pauses, eyes narrowing in question. “You seem…different,” he notes, one finger tapping at his lips. “What happened, pray tell? Some sort of life changing revelation?”

Gladio stalls, slipping his hands into his pockets. 

“We didn’t find Noctis, but…I might have found something else. Guess we’ll see.” Ignis tilts his head as Gladio shrugs, studying the prince’s Shield until he hears laughter getting closer, a sign that Noctis and Prompto have already put their spat behind them.

“What a bunch of fools,” Ignis says dotingly as Prompto and Noctis walk into view. Gladio smiles along with Ignis, gaze settling on Prompto who is punching Noctis in the shoulder, blue eyes catching the light so that they’re nearly white, more brilliant than the morning sun.

“Yeah, we sure are.” 

**Author's Note:**

> “A side of roasted Leiden potatoes” is throwing shade from my other fic, also based off of MysteriousBean’s art, which is titled “Cactuar Skewers.”
> 
> “arms hanging in space like the limbs of a cactuar” is MORE subtle shade from “Cactuar Skewers.” Poor Prompto needs to stop going on these one-on-one tours with the bros because it doesn’t end well for him.
> 
> The apparition they find once they swim out of the Vesperpool is meant to be Melusine, the daemon you fight in the ‘O Partner, My Partner’ side quest.
> 
> “Quit bitchin’ and let’s mosey” is a play off of what Gladio says in game (quit bitchin’ and start killin’) modified to give a little nod to Cloud Strife. 
> 
> “Suddenly, he realizes why the siren’s spell didn’t work on him and he wants to crawl even deeper into the ditch” – the joke here is that Gladio is bisexual and subject to Melusine’s charms, while Prompto is a poor gayby who has no interest in women  
> w h a t s o e v e r.


End file.
